From His Cold Lips
by thelinksthatconnectus
Summary: These are my fills for the one word prompts for Hansoff Week on Tumblr. Most are AU, with a more often than not morally grey Hans (who never tried to invade Arrandell). Hans/Kristoff
1. Sled-Throne

Though he was by no means royalty, he sat on his sled as if though it were the highest throne. When Hans had seen him in the castle, he had stood relaxed, the end of a carrot sticking out of his mouth like a cigar. In his hands had been a stack of paper, which he had absently scanned over.

Kristoff patted the space next to him. "I got it cleaned last week, so there's nothing to worry about."

Hans merely sat down and placed his gloved hands in his laps. "When will you be expecting your payment?" He placed a hand in his pocket, feeling the large bundle of paper bills that he had been given. His father had demanded that he make sure nothing happen to the money, and it got to the ice man safely.

Hans closed his eyes, feeling snowflakes land on his eyelids, cheeks, and nose. Back home in the Southern Isles, the land was having the biggest heat wave in history. Many were struggling to grow crops, and everyone, the palace included, was struggling to get water. His father had given him his instructions while sweat covered near every inch of his face, neck, and arms. His shirt had been all but soaked through.

In a way, he was lucky for being chosen to pick up the ice. Not only did he get to leave the heat wave behind, but he got to get his own share of the ice. That was his payment, besides a future stack of large bills for himself only.

"Oh, I can wait until we are done," Kristoff said. "We don't have banks up in the mountain, do we, Sven?"

His reindeer grunted.

"I hope you don't mind," Kristoff said, "but I haven't cut the ice yet. We'll be up there for a couple hours, maybe even a few days depending on how much ice that you need. Is that fine with you?" He gave a weak smile, though his eyes left the prince.

"Oh, don't worry, it will be just fine." Hans could see his breath. "I'm sure that my father and brothers can wait a little longer."

"Good," Kristoff said. "Okay, Sven, let's get moving."

The reindeer took off, and from the corner of his eye, Hans watched the kingdom of Arrandell vanish.

His eyes wondered over to the ice man. He was certainly easy on the eyes, with his hard muscles and bright eyes. Though he wore a knit grey hat, bits of blond hair could still be seen peeking out.

The Southern Isles could endure the heat for just a little while longer.


	2. Anger

These were the times when he got the most ice, when he sold more than usual, and when he returned home holding newly bought food while still having heavy, full pockets. Those facts, however, did nothing to comfort him. It wasn't like he really needed the money, not really. He worked for a queen who had money to last for generations, and a husband who was also royalty.

However, he and his husband were not speaking at the moment.

Kristoff worked harder than before, using his handsaw for all it was worth. A great, wide hole (though set in a neat square) appeared in the ice; by the time he came back the next day, it would all be covered again by another thick layer of ice. That was the incredible thing about ice - no matter what hardship it faced, it could always return to it's original form.

It was too bad that the temperature did nothing to help Kristoff or Hans whenever they fought. Whether it was snowing hard (whether caused by Elsa or natural snow) or the hot sun was beating down on them, no weather pattern could fix their problems.

Kristoff took out another piece of ice; it was almost as cold as the way Hans was acting towards him at the moment.

Almost.

Sven groaned, and looked at him with wide eyes.

"You don't need to worry about me right now, buddy." Kristoff looked away from him. "I just need to work off some steam."

Sven snorted.

Kristoff's muscles were already beginning to ache, and he could feel a headache forming. "Look, I know that you mean well, buddy, but this is my problem to deal with. Only I can sort this out." He sighed and turned back to the frozen lake. At any other time, he would pause to reflect upon its beauty. Sunlight shown off of the ice, though it could do nothing to weaken the hard willed ice. Already, he could imagine the hole freezing over.

Kristoff bent down and sawed off another square.

Things would cool down between him and Hans. They didn't fight often, so it was safe to assume that Hans was not going to threaten divorce. They both were happy enough.

Yes, Kristoff thought, a small smile pulling at his lips. Things will work out just fine.

Too bad they hadn't worked out just yet.

Kristoff pushed the handsaw down harder, using every bit of strength in his body.


	3. Foot Size

The bed was big - it probably could have fit a reindeer in it (not that Hans would ever let Kristoff know that; he didn't need any ideas like that in his head). Kristoff was already in it, blankets covering nearly all of him, and a book in his hands.

Out of the very edges, however, were Kristoff's callused pink toes. For all the good of the bed's size, it could be a bit longer.

Hans took a step forward, his boot creaking against the hard wood. The sound echoed through the small room.

Kristoff looked up and blinked. "Oh, Hans, you're home. Sorry, I didn't notice you until now."

Hans sighed. "I suppose that I was just hoping for a warmer welcome." He leaned down and took his shoes off, and then left them to litter the floor. He could always pick them up tomorrow. Hans, however, did keep on his soft, small white socks. "I suppose that deserves you a little punishment."

Kristoff's face paled. "Punishment? Hans, it was an accident! I swear so!"

"Accident or not, bad deeds cannot be ignored." With one quick leap, he was at the edge of the bed and his fingers were on Kristoff's feet. He tickled him harder than any of Hans's brothers had him, until he was sure that the entire kingdom of Arrandell could hear the ice man laughing.

"Hans, you're evil!" Kristoff cried in between laughs. "You know all my weak spots."

"It wasn't hard to figure out." Kristoff's foot size, after all, was huge.

After a short while, he stopped and gave the ice man a chance to catch his breath.

He walked over to his side of the bed and got inside.

Kristoff was busy picking up his book, which had fallen to the floor. Once he finished, he put it up on his dresser, and then turned back to Hans.

Thick, warm arms wrapped around the prince's waist and pulled him closer. Kristoff's chin rested on Hans's shoulder, and his lips were mere inches from his ear. "Is this the kind of greeting that you wanted, Hans?"

The prince nodded. Now this was more like it. He cuddled up closer to Kristoff, no longer caring if he had yet to even change into his pajamas.

The moment, however, was broken by Kristoff putting his hands under Hans's arm pits.

In only moments, his serious demeanor was completely lost. His laughter echoed through the room.

"Kristoff!"

"Hey, what did I do wrong? I only thought that revenge would be fair."

Hans wanted to reply, but he could not stop laughing.


	4. Rope

He had brought what must have been miles of rope. All that, enough to wrap around his body three times, and Kristoff still felt as though he needed more.

The mountain was large, and Kristoff had insisted on Hans not cheating and (quite literally) taking the stairs. If they were going to climb a mountain, then they were going to do it right. Besides, Hans had been the one who had requested to learn how to climb mountains; Kristoff had merely gone along with his idea.

Though the ice palace was close, Kristoff did not have any plans to step inside of it. Elsa had gladly given him the day off, freeing him from his royal ice harvesting duties, to take Hans out.

"Have fun," she had said, a smile on her face. "And be safe. Bring bandages if you're worried, and pack a little extra food."

He'd done just that. After all, how could he refuse his queen?

And along with the bandages and extra food (carrots, potatoes, and dry meat straight from the castle's pantry), he had brought rope.

Of all the things and Elsa had told him, none of them were consent to enter her ice castle. Even now, with the queen back in Arrandell, the place was still hers. Disrespecting her, even on accident, would be wrong. She trusted him, after all.

Above him, Hans seemed to climb the mountain with ease. His body was graceful, and were it not for the rope then Kristoff would have thought the man was floating. Already, he was a speck in Kristoff's eye, the only thing really sticking out about him his red hair. Kristoff's eyes followed after it, as if it were a flame rising higher and higher into the atmosphere.

If something were to happen and Hans were to fall (despite everything that Kristoff had done to make sure that he was safe), Kristoff would be at the bottom ready to catch him.

And he won't fall, Kristoff chided himself. He's perfectly safe - you made sure of it.

Hans took to climbing naturally. Kristoff had only climbed a short distance before jumping down.

"It's your turn." Kristoff had said, a grin on his face.

And Hans had gone.

"Hey, Kristoff!"

Kristoff's eyes focused directly on the small splash of bright red hair. "Hans, did something happen to you?" Though he had been out in the cold for hours, it was only then that the ice set in his veins and the cold broke through his clothing.

"You're coming, right?" His voice, though far away, was rather chipper.

Kristoff grinned, and prepared his rope. "I'll be right after you."

"Race you to the top!" Hans laughed.

Kristoff pouted. "Hey, that's not fair!"

Well, that was that. It seemed that he would be going up that mountain too.


	5. Blood

**Warning: (Cosensual bloodplay)**

His face was so pale, almost as white as the very snow that he worked in. The redness around his cheeks was bright, a stark contrast from his icy face. It was even darker than his eyes - as brown as cinnamon.

For a moment, Hans could only stand and grin at him. His hands, freed from his confining gloves, shook at his sides. A rush of joy, so giddy and unusual, ran straight through him. The cold, dark red liquid was calling to him, like a siren's song.

It started out with mere kisses, quick, chaste presses of his lips to Kristoff's cheek. The knife that Hans had used earlier, the one that Kristoff had specifically picked out himself, was forgotten on the dresser. Hans could think of nothing but the man below him; no longer did he care if the blankets got stained.

The blood had a sharp taste to it, but Hans had swallowed worse in his life. At first, he got very little. It dribbled down his throat and he licked his lips constantly; they were stained red, as if Hans had used some rejected lipstick.

And my, oh my, how beautiful his lips must have looked then.

"You aren't afraid to bleed, are you?" Hans had asked before it started. Part of him was tense, waiting to leave the bedroom with his collection of knives untouched and Kristoff unable to look at him.

"I've bled a lot in my life," Kristoff said. "And most of it was from a lot worse from you."

Hans had merely grinned back at him and nodded.

Once the kisses ended, the blood remained. Even when he closed his eyes, the bright red liquid remained under his eyes. It was a siren singing out to him.

"Well," Kristoff said, "are you going to go on?"

He nodded and opened his eyes. He leaned forward, until he could feel Kristoff's breath by his ears. Slowly, Hans opened his mouth and released his tongue, testing it on the air.

Kristoff's cheek was soft against his tongue. The blood stuck easily to his tongue, and in moments he had finished it all.

A small bit of blood still trickled out of the cut on his wound, but not enough for Hans to go back.

"I'll get the bandages." Hans started to break away from Kristoff, but the ice man beckoned him forward with one finger.

The kiss was quick, Kristoff's tongue working his way into Hans's mouth in record time. At any other time, Hans would have been impressed, but he broke away.

"Wait until the bandages are on," Hans said.

Kristoff nodded, loosening his grip on Hans.

Soon enough, Kristoff's pale face had returned, though a bandage now covered the side of his cheek. His brown eyes were wide, locking onto Hans.

"Well," Kristoff said, "get yourself a knife. It's my turn."

Hans grinned, placing the bandages back down. No wonder Kristoff had been so patient and still as Hans had bandaged him up; he knew that the best was still to come.

He opened his case, admiring the knives inside. There were so many perfect ones, but he could only choose one.

Unless, Hans thought, we did more than just my cheek.

His grin widened, and he eagerly selected his best knives. For a moment, his grin reflected off of the edges.

"Go on," he said, placing the knives down by Kristoff's side. "Go wild."

Kristoff responded with his own grin.


	6. Torture

Hans had memorized every inch of this cell. If he closed his eyes than he would still see it, burned on the backs of his eyelids and imprisoning even his mind. It was oh so fitting that Elsa (the queen, the one with power here) gave him the very room that she had been trapped in. It had been reinforced, made even stronger so that only someone with magical powers could get out. The walls themselves were a mix of stone and pure, hard ice. It was also laced with magic, however, as it never melted.

Hans didn't have any power - not in Arrandell, not in the Southern Isles, and not breaking out of his hands. He was no sorcerer, and sometimes he wondered if he was still a prince.

The Southern Isles had sent him back. His father had took one look at him before turning his eyes and casting him aside. None of his family had stuck up for him; those he had hoped would were not there at the time, but out somewhere else. Perhaps his sister, Wilma, would never even find out why he was gone, just return home to find him gone.

And as much as he wanted to believe otherwise, he wasn't sure if he could trust anyone to come rescue him. Who, after all, would stand up against the snow queen?

However, it was not the queen who came down to visit him, nor was it her sister, Anna, his ex-fiancée.

It was the ice man.

Familiar footsteps came down the stone hall. This was not the sound of guards changing shifts; this was only one pair of footsteps. Nor was it the sound of the old woman who brought him his food; her feet were surprisingly light for age, and at her side she kept a knife. Never did she hide her glare, and she always wore the queen's colors.

These were heavy footsteps.

Kristoff's footsteps.

The door opened quickly, and soon enough Kristoff was standing face to face with him. A smirk danced upon his lips, and he held a basket in his hands.

"Hello, Hans," he said casually, almost as if they were old friends.

Hans always looked out the small window to watch the rise and fall of the sun. From there, he could calculate the times until Kristoff returned. However, the sun hadn't sank completely yet, and the cell wasn't completely dark yet.

Hans's heart sank. He had thought that he would have a few more minutes of blessed isolation.

"Hungry?" Kristoff asked. He pulled something from his basket; it was impossible to make out as it was wrapped in paper. Kristoff unwrapped a bit, holding it up. It was a sandwich, filled with what looked like beef and lettuce. "Anna told me once that you liked these."

He wrapped it once more and placed it back in the basket. As he stepped across the room, he dug around in his basket. "What else should I show you?" He smiled, and pulled something out. It was a shattered piece of metal, shining in the little light the room had. It was jagged and hard, yet still fine, as if it had been broken apart from a weapon.

Hans felt his heart skip a beat.

"How did you find that?"

Kristoff raised an eyebrow. "Surprised to see this again? I found it washed up on the shore today and recognized it instantly." Kristoff held it up; Hans's own reflection could be seen through it.

He could hardly recognize himself. His eyes had lost their brightness and his skin its color, not to mention a good deal of weight. A small goatee had formed on his chin.

"You know, your sword wasn't very strong if it couldn't go through ice." Kristoff chuckled and dropped the piece of metal back into his basket. "But that's the thing about ice - it's strong and unforgiving."

Kristoff pulled the sandwich back out and unwrapped it, throwing the paper down without care. Perhaps the ice man would pick it up again lateer, or perhaps Hans would close his eyes and see the cell and the new litter covering the floor.

"Hungry?" Kristoff repeated.

Hans remained silent. Kristoff would not break him, no matter how hard the ice man tried.

"Huh? I would have thought so." Kristoff shrugged. "I mean, Krista has been bringing you less and less food. Unlike me, she can't handle looking at your face."

The pieces clicked together. Hans had failed to notice that the old woman, Krista, no longer came as much; had he really been that happy to be alone?

"You need to eat something," Kristoff said. His eyes surveyed over Kristoff's whole form. "A little meat on your bones would help you out."

Hans merely looked to where his arms ended and the cold black metal began, entrapping his arms. Kristoff would never give him enough to where Hans could break free.

Kristoff threw the sandwich to the floor.

Hans froze, staring down at it.

"Go on and eat it."

Hans's stomach twisted.

"Just lean down."

Hans shook his head.

"Lean down!"

Hans stiffened, and the words rang through his ears.

Kristoff mumbled something under his breath, and then pushed Hans down.

"Enjoy your dinner."

He put a foot on Hans's back, his heavy boots digging into the other man's back.

Hans did what he was told, letting cold meat and bread enter his mouth.

Who ever would have thought of challenging the snow queen? Who would have thought of hurting her sister, with hair like fire and a soul (and a fist) to match for it?

Hans did, and he had actually thought that he would win. And whenever he tried to forget, Kristoff would come back around to remind him.


	7. Trust

Sometimes Kristoff had to wonder about others. Bulda said that he was paranoid and needed to lighten up, but it was hard to take his adoptive mother's words to heart - no matter how well intentioned they were. It was Kristoff, after all, who regularly interacted with other humans.

It wasn't that there weren't people that he could trust. That was a lie. He had risked his life while working beside Anna, and could read her like a book. She made herself up front and never tried to hide anything, both personal and not.

Elsa he too could trust. Cold and yet warm, she was ice personified. Her very skin was as cold as the ice he harvested, and her pale hair glowed like snow. No longer did she fear using her powers, and long since had she stopped wearing her gloves. Before, he had little trust for royalty, preferring to stay landless, in the mountains that no one had claimed. Now he was a citizen of Arrandell, a worker for the queen, and her most loyal follower (besides Anna). He would bow to her if needed, and put a pickaxe through whoever tried to hurt her.

Hans, however, was a different story. He had taken Kristoff so quickly, only shortly after Anna had returned, thanked him for his services, and then broken their engagement (Elsa had smirked through the whole ordeal).

Though Kristoff could see why Anna had liked him, he had not accepted any out of the blue marriage proposals. He had better things to do than return to his family, this time with a real husband in tow.

It was too soon, like an early, greedy spring that broke through the blessed cold.

Not that he didn't like Hans. The prince's touch was fire and his whispered words were sweet. Every touch was warm yet somehow soft, digging into his very core. Never before had he met anyone quite like him.

Elsa had allowed him to stay, saying he could be a permanent dignitary. Hans too lived in the castle, and it was hard to avoid him. Sometimes Kristoff would bump into him while at the stables, and end up giving Sitron a carrot as well as to Sven. Or he would be walking down the hall and meet the prince's bright eyes. While eating dinner, one of Hans's hands would usually be under the table, either wrapped around Kristoff's hand or slowly going up his leg...

Being around him made secrets hard to keep. Not when Hans rarely picked up the underwear on his bedroom floor, and Kristoff could swear it was a size too big for Hans and far less well made then something he would wear - underwear fit for a peasant (which Kristoff had never considered himself). And the castle was so big, full of other hiding spots where Hans and another could easily sneak away... It was not as if the queen kept a sharp eye on him.

Trust - most days Kristoff was not sure whether to depend on Hans, with his smooth words and heart racing caresses, or Kristoff's own fearful mind. If Bulda ever came around, Kristoff could not be sure what she would actually say. Sven didn't give him any better advice, neither with words or facial movements.

Whatever was going on, Kristoff felt pushed back from it and forgotten.

He wanted to trust Hans; he really, truly did.

Or, maybe, both men were liars. Kristoff could no longer tell.


End file.
